


Nacho usual date night

by sealdog



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: A/B/O, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 04:06:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9530804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sealdog/pseuds/sealdog
Summary: “I can get takeaway on the way over,” Timothy offers. “There’s a really good burrito place two blocks from me.”“Bring nachos, and I’ll let you have some of my ice cream stash,” Rhys says promptly.Laughing, Timothy says, “Done.”---Timothy and Rhys' dinner date gets cancelled. Timothy goes to Rhys' place instead, and meets his kid. abo-verse fluffy date stuff.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scootsaboot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scootsaboot/gifts).



> super super belated bday present for anya, who wanted gay fluffy a/b/o shit with rhys having a kid. i hope this is gay enough for u, u gay fuck. ilu, happy belated bday.
> 
> ommy = kid term for omega-parent

Timothy’s checking his reflection in the mirror, giving his hair one last comb-through, when the call comes. Taken off guard, he nearly trips over the edge of his bed trying to get at his phone from where it’s plugged in and charging on the other side of his bedroom.

“Hey, this is Tim.” He says, trying not to sound breathless as he hops on one leg to shake out the pain.

“Tim! Rhys here.” Timothy perks up at the sound of Rhys’ voice instinctively.

“Rhys! What’s up? Have you left already? I’m gonna be another--”

“Sorry! Something came up I think I’m gonna have to cancel, I’m so sorry.” Rhys sounds more flustered than Timothy has ever heard him. “I--Could we do this tomorrow night instead? My treat, I promise, to make up for it.”

“Um, sure?” Timothy says, trying to keep the disappointment from his voice as he goes to sit on the edge of his bed. “No worries, tomorrow’s good. Everything okay?”

“Yeah- yeah, I just had some plans get cancelled and I thought I could make it for tonight and I’m really sorry, I’ll make it up to you I-- oh sweetheart don’t do that, no don’t--”

From across the line, Timothy hears the oddest sound. Kind of like...a child’s voice?

“Gimme. Ommy, want it.”

“No sweetie, you can’t have the pen, no don’t- don’t put it in your mouth, it won’t taste nice.” Rhys’ voice comes, distant, as if he’s holding the phone away from his mouth. When it returns, it’s back to its normal volume. “Sorry, um. Tomorrow? Same time?”

“Is that a kid?” Timothy blurts out, confused.

“Oh. Oh, jeez. You heard that.” Rhys’ strained voice kind of cracks a little. “Um. Yes?”

“Oh.” Timothy says, nonplussed. “You have a kid?”

Rhys sighs, the sound staticky over the phone. “I...I do. I’m sorry, I know I should’ve told you before, but it never really came up, because some people get all weird about it, and then after a while I just didn’t know how to t--”

“No, I didn’t mean-!” Timothy stumbles over his own words in his rush to get them out. “Sorry, god, I totally sounded like one of those alphas, didn’t I? That was _not_ what I meant. I mean. I love kids! I’ve got a niece, she’s my favourite person in the whole wide world. If I’d known, I would’ve asked if you wanted to go somewhere kid-friendly instead, so you don’t-- I’m guessing the babysitter plans fell through?”

“Yeah,” Rhys says sourly, exhaustion threading through his words. “Family thing cropped up. Sorry, hold on. Don’t eat the pen darling, come on now. Give it to me.” His voice fades away, goes distant, as he goes to rescue his pen, from the sounds of things.

Timothy snorts at the familiar situation, and covers it up with a cough, just in case Rhys is still listening. He kind of misses having a kid around. Jack and Angel had moved out more than a few years ago, but Timothy has lots of fond memories of babysitting for her while Jack was away on his business trips.

Still, no amount of reminiscence will make him forget how _exhausting_ kids could be.

As he waits for Rhys to get back, he tries to remember if he still has any of Angel’s old toys. He’s pretty sure there’s a whole box of kid’s toys somewhere in his closet. Jack had a tendency of buying Angel things to make up for his long business trips, despite the fact that Angel rarely played with anything other than her old favourites. So most of them ended up in a big box in Timothy’s closet, dusty and forgotten.

“I’m back!” Rhys sounds a bit breathless when he returns. “Sorry. What were you saying?”

“I have a lifetime premium membership at the zoo,” Timothy says. “As well as the museum, and the aquarium.”

There’s a confused silence on the other end of the line.

“I mean. Like I said, I have a niece. I helped babysit her a lot back when she was younger, so I have memberships to all these places that I haven’t been to in forever. If it would be easier, and- only if you wanted to, naturally. We could always go to the museum tomorrow or something, so you don’t have to get a babysitter?” Timothy’s voice cracks at the end, and he clears his throat, embarrassed.

“I’m…That would be...nice?” Rhys says.

“Oh. Um. You don’t have to if you don’t want to!” Timothy blurts out, the embarrassment growing stronger. “I really didn’t mean it in like- a weird way or anything. Just that- Look, Rhys, I like you, and I promise I’m not one of those asshole alphas who thinks any omega who’s had a kid from another alpha is, I don’t know, whatever it is they say--”

“Spoiled goods?” Rhys interjects, sounding both very wry and kind of bitter.

“Wait, did somebody actually say that to you?!” Timothy says, startled out of his embarrassed word vomit. “Jesus, that’s stupid.”

Rhys snorts. “Yeah. That’s putting it nicely.”

“Well.” Timothy says. “Now that we’ve established that anyone who says that is a dumbass…”

There’s a muffled choking sound, and then some rustling, and then, loud and clear, “Dum’ass!”

It’s followed right up with “Sweetheart, no don’t- don’t say that darling.”

“Oh no.” Timothy covers his face with one hand. “Please tell me I wasn’t on speaker.”

“Dum’ass!”

“You’re not _now_. But you were.” Rhys says very drily. “Thanks for that, by the way.”

“Sorry,” Timothy says regretfully. “Not exactly making a very good impression, am I?”

Rhys laughs, the sound settling warm in Timothy’s chest and easing some of his worry. “Nope.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Sasha has taught him worse words.” There’s the sound of rustling fabric, and then Rhys says, “Here, Kieran darling, wanna tell Uncle Tim what word you learned from Sasha the other day?”

There’s a cheerful sounding “Dum’ass!” followed by a familiar sigh.

“Okay, now I’m going to be hearing that for the rest of the week.”

“Sorry.” Timothy fiddles with the cufflink on his shirt, thinking wistfully of that time Nisha had taught Angel the word _fuck_. Boy, Jack had not been happy.

“Would you...do you want to come over tonight instead?” Rhys says, out of nowhere. “We could still have dinner and a movie, except it’ll be ants on a stick and Disney reruns instead of steak and explosions. And Kieran will be here, saying his new favourite word.”

“Dum’ass!” comes, followed right after by a ridiculously adorable sounding giggle.

Timothy sits up, surprised. “Are you sure? I’d love to, but we’ve only been on like, four dates. For all you know, i could be an axe-killer.”

“Are you an axe-killer?” Rhys asks, sounding both suspicious and amused at the same time. “I feel like between the two of us, you’re kind of the less likely one to be an axe-killer. Sorry, Tim. Only space for one axe-killer in this relationship.”

“Is that a confession?” Timothy says, smiling. “I could be an undercover detective, for all you know.”

Rhys snorts, and then there’s more rustling. “Okay, _detective_. I’m making ants on a stick for Kieran, but I’ve got some frozen pizza if you don’t feel like raisins. Or celery. No judgment, I hate that stuff too, but it’s the only vegetable he’ll eat.”

“I can get takeaway on the way over,” Timothy offers. “There’s a really good burrito place two blocks from me.”

“Bring nachos, and I’ll let you have some of my ice cream stash,” Rhys says promptly.

Laughing, Timothy says, “Done.”

“Okay, I’ll text you my address. Hope you’re prepared for an exciting night of cartoons and wildlife documentaries, by the way. Not to get your expectations up or anything.”

“As long as there are bears, I’m cool.”

“Okay, weird request, but I make no promises.” With that, the line ends, and Timothy’s left smiling at his phone in what is an undoubtedly very sappy manner. Shaking himself out of it, he stands up, tells himself it’s a good thing nobody (Nisha, mostly. And Jack.) was around to make fun of him for that, and gets ready to leave.

\---

It takes Timothy a bit longer than he’d expected to get to Rhys’ place. For one, he’d had to change his clothes. The outfit he’d prepared for a nice dinner and a movie would _not_ have lasted long with a kid, especially not if the kid was anything like Angel had been.

So he digs out his nicest pair of jeans, the ones that make his ass look great, and a soft t-shirt that he knows brings out both his eyes. What? If he’s going to do this, he’s going to do this _right_.

When he knocks on the door of the address Rhys had texted him, he has two bags of food in his arms, and a pint of Ben & Jerry’s he’d picked up from the convenience store closer to his destination. Rhys stays in a pretty nice part of town, lots of parks nearby, and Timothy wonders if it was for Kieran.

“Hey.” The door opens, and Rhys is there. His hair’s kind of mussed out of its normal coif, he’s got glasses on, his feet are bare, and Timothy is _not prepared_ for this.

“Hi. I brought burritos, and nachos.” He somehow manages to gets the words out without stumbling over them, which should count as some kind of achievement. “And ice cream.”

“Ice cream!” Rhys makes grabby hands at the bags in Timothy’s arms, and latches onto the one with ice cream with unnerving focus. “For that, I might even let you have some of the nachos without a fight.”

Rhys steps back into the house, and gestures Timothy in after him. “Come on, let’s get these into the kitchen.”

Timothy follows after him, eyeing his surroundings curiously as he goes. The house is small, but clean, even with all the clear marks of a child living there. There are little knickknacks displayed everywhere, childish paintings pinned to the wall in a near row, and weirdly enough, socks everywhere. It’s not the neatest of places, but it’s very charming.

“Kieran? Say hi to Uncle Tim.” Rhys takes the bags from Timothy’s arms, and gestures with his chin towards a door to the left. “Go on, he won’t bite. Maybe.”

Giving Rhys a skeptical look, Timothy heads through the door, only to freeze as he comes face-to-face with an inquisitive pair of eyes, peeking over the back of a sofa.

“Hi.” Timothy says, waving and then kind of regretting it because wow, waving, really? “Kieran, I take it?”

Kieran nods mutely, a lock of inky black hair falling over his forehead to cross one eye. He reaches up and shoves it out of the way with a chubby hand, still staring all the while at Timothy.

“I’m Timothy, but you can call me Tim.” Timothy sticks his hand out, watching for the kid’s reaction. When Kieran only flicks his gaze down to Timothy’s hand for an instant before going right back into staring warily, Timothy adds, “Or you can call me dumbass, if you like.”

At that, Kieran’s eyes crinkle up, and he sits up enough to chirp “Dum’ass!” before disappearing back behind the sofa. Timothy catches a glimpse of a round face and a gap-toothed grin before the face disappears, and he’s struck by how much the kid reminds him of Angel, perhaps because of the black hair.

He makes his way around the sofa, and goes to sit next to the kid. “Whatcha watching?”

“Hippo,” Kieran replies, narrowing his eyes at Timothy. Timothy glances at the screen to check that he’s not being name-called by a kid one quarter his size, and to his relief, there is indeed a hippo there.

“You smell weird,” Kieran says, still staring at Timothy.

“Um.” Timothy checks his t-shirt, sniffing it just in case he’d gotten some sauce spilled on it or something. It’s clean, and doesn’t smell like anything other than his usual detergent. “What do I smell like?”

Kieran wrinkles his nose. “I’unno. Weird.”

“That’s very helpful,” Timothy informs him.

Kieran nods in agreement. “Yeah.” He sniffs, and rubs at his nose with his arm before turning back to the screen. “I like hippos.” He declares with finality, and slumps back against the sofa.

“Hippos are cool, it’s true.” Timothy glances at the television, to where the hippos are seemingly wallowing in mud. “Have you ever seen one in real life?”

Kieran shakes his head, frowning. “They’re big.”

“Yep, they are. Maybe someday you’ll get to see them at the zoo or something.” Timothy waves at the screen. “They’re very big, I think you’ll like them.”

Kieran’s face brightens up, and he shuffles closer to Timothy. “How big?”

Laughing, Timothy extends his arms as far as they’ll go. “This big.”

“Whoa.” Kieran stares at the space Timothy is marking out, grey eyes wide and awed.

“What are you two up to?”

When Timothy turns, Rhys is coming in from the direction of the kitchen, several plates in hand, and glasses nowhere in sight. Timothy kind of misses them already.

“I’m showing Kieran how big hippos are,” Timothy says.

Rhys snorts, and places a plate of what is indeed several sticks of celery, lined with peanut butter and raisins, on the living room table in front of Kieran. “Think you might need an extra arm for that. Hippos are _big_. Here, as requested, my lord prince. Ants on a stick.”

Kieran cheers, and clambers over Timothy’s lap to get to the food. A tiny palm goes into a mildly painful spot, and Timothy tries his best to hide his wince. It doesn’t seem to be perfect, going by Rhys’ half-amused, half-apologetic look.

“And for the peasants, burritos and nachos.” Rhys puts the other plates down, and moves to sit cross-legged on the floor. It puts him really close to TImothy’s knee. Close enough that, if Timothy were to shift his leg just a little, it would be leaning against Rhys’ side. Timothy is more than okay with this.

“Peasants, huh? I can live with that, as long as the burritos keep coming.” Timothy leans forward, and takes one of the plates. When he sits back, he leaves his leg where it rests solidly against Rhys’ side.

“Ommy, I wanna see a hippo.” Kieran, peanut butter already smeared across his face, says with complete seriousness.

“Now?”

Kieran nods. “Yeah. Hippo.”

Rhys leans back, letting his weight rest on Timothy’s leg. “Well, the zoo’s closed right now, but how would you like to go next week, with Uncle Tim and I?”

Taken off guard, Timothy tries to chew and swallow his burrito all at once so he can respond. He doesn’t choke on his food, which would be super embarrassing, but it’s a close call. Swallowing a mouthful of barely chewed burrito, he gives Kieran a thumbs up, and a watery-eyed smile.

Kieran gives him a dubious look, kind of a lot like the one Rhys gave him when Timothy had turned up for their first date wearing a cat t-shirt. Actually, no, it’s the exact same look, except in miniature, and Timothy finds himself ridiculously charmed.

“He smells weird.”

...Maybe less charmed than before.

Down at Timothy’s knee, Rhys laughs, the sound bright and unfettered, even as he tilts his head to give Timothy an amused look. “Kieran! That’s not...Okay, remember what we said about being nice?”

“But he smells weird…” Kieran takes a deep sniff, and makes a face. “He doesn’t smell like you, Ommy.”

Rhys takes a sniff of his own, and gives Timothy an entirely different look, one that makes Timothy’s mouth go dry. Well, drier than before. “He _definitely_ doesn’t smell like me, it’s true. He’s an alpha, Kieran. Like Fiona.”

“Oh.” Kieran brightens up. “I like Aunt Fiona.”

Rhys runs a hand through his hair fondly, pushing the messy dark strands away. “And she likes you too.”

“Okay.” Seemingly satisfied with that, Kieran turns back to his celery and peanut butter.

“Is Kieran…” Timothy trails off, not really sure if it’s an appropriate question to ask.

“Omega, like me.” Rhys turns, so his cheek is pressed against Timothy’s knee. “He hasn’t really interacted much with alphas, sorry about that. You smell fine to me.”

The look he’s giving Timothy says _more than fine_ , and Timothy swallows, breaking the eye contact with difficulty.

“Thanks, I think?” Timothy fiddles with the rice spilling out of his burrito. “You smell nice too.”

“I know,” Rhys says, and gives Timothy’s knee a close-mouthed kiss before sitting up and turning back to his food.

The rest of dinner goes by pretty easily, even when Kieran makes Timothy describe the hippos he’s seen over and over again. At one point, Timothy remembers that he has actual photos, and that’s when he’s pretty sure Kieran finally decides that Timothy’s presence is acceptable.

“Will the hippos we see be this big?” Kieran asks for about the 8th time, from where he’s ensconced himself in Timothy’s lap. He’s got Timothy’s arms around him, and they’re both flicking through Timothy’s handscreen, through Timothy’s photos from the last time he’d gone to the zoo with Angel and Jack.

“I’m pretty sure they will be bigger,” Timothy replies patiently. This is something he’s more than familiar with; it actually kind of makes him miss Angel. Well, kid Angel.

“Okay, sorry to interrupt your hippo fun, but it’s time to shower, and then bed for you, young man.” Rhys breaks in from where he’s next to them, listening in on their conversation. His body is warm against Timothy’s side, solid and present, head tucked against Timothy’s shoulder in a way that feels oddly right. Between Kieran’s fidgety warmth on his lap, and Rhys’ body tucked up against his side, Timothy feels kind of like he’s stepped into some kind of alternate, perfect reality.

It’s weird, Timothy’s never really been a typical alpha. Growing up with Jack, and then Nisha, both of whom were incredibly alpha-like in all the ways that Timothy never was, he’d always wondered if there had been some clerical error, and if he was actually a beta who got pegged wrongly as an alpha. The first time he’d gone into his heat (two years after Jack, and _boy_ had Jack been smug about that) had cleared up that question pretty quickly, but the doubts had lingered.

With Rhys though, it sometimes feels like every latent alpha drive in Timothy has come out of hibernation. The wanting to spend time with Rhys, wanting to share his scent and to make Rhys feel safe and happy - these are things Timothy’s more than familiar with. It’s the other things that leave him feeling unsettled. Things like the deep, driving desire to _mark_ Rhys, bite down into soft skin and savour his every cry, to make it clear on every inch of Rhys’ body that Rhys is Timothy’s and Timothy’s alone-- these are the things that leave him feeling lost in his own body.

Moments like this, however, along with Rhys’ own ridiculously stubborn nature (so unlike the stereotypical omega, and Timothy has never been more relieved about that) help push the fear away. This feels- safe. Like something Timothy could lose himself into without fear.

He’s brought out of his contemplation by Kieran’s wiggling in his lap.

“What?” He says reflexively, blinking down at Kieran. When had the kid turned around?

“Goodnight, Uncle Tim,” Kieran says slowly, giving Timothy a look like he thinks he’s slow or something. It’s hilarious and more than mildly insulting, to be given such a look by a child less than a third his age.

“Oh, sorry. Miles away, thinking about hippos. Goodnight, Kieran.” Timothy replies, and grins at the excited look that comes over Kieran’s face at the mention of hippos.

“Okay, that’s enough hippo talk. It’s time for bath.” Rhys’ warm weight lifts off from Timothy’s side as he stands.

Timothy absolutely does not do anything ridiculous like pine after his warmth or anything.

Rhys hoists Kieran up with an arm around his middle, and turns to Timothy. “You alright to be alone for a bit? I gotta get the peanut butter cleaned off his highness. It’s not going to be fun for anybody, but it shouldn’t take long.”

Timothy waves him off, and stands up as well. “I’ll start cleaning up the dishes, go on ahead.”

Rhys brightens at that. “Really? Oh good, I hate doing the dishes.”

Laughing, Timothy bends down so he’s at eye level with Kieran. “Have fun bathing, I’ll see you in a bit.”

Kieran gives him a morose look, full on pout and everything, and nods. “I hate baths,” he says, but doesn’t resist when Rhys starts carrying him to the bathroom.

“Have fun!” Timothy calls out after them.

A familiar snort, along with a childish sigh is the last thing he hears before they disappear around the corner and up the stairs.

Smiling to himself, Timothy goes and starts clearing the dishes from dinner. There’s peanut butter smeared all over Kieran’s plate, sticky and messy. Angel had been just as messy; Timothy still finds crayon smears behind furniture, even to this day. It’s good to know that it’s a kid thing.

It doesn’t take him long to finish the dishes, and he spends the next few minutes looking at the fridge. There are photos and childish paintings pinned with magnets onto it, and every single one of them looks adorable. One of the photos is of Rhys, grinning, chocolate cake smeared all over his face, and giving the camera two thumbs up. He looks very young in the photo, hair longer than it is now and a different pair of glasses, larger and dorkier.

“Oh god, that’s a terrible photo, I thought I took it down ages ago.” Rhys’ flustered voice cuts in, and when Timothy looks up, Rhys is there, sweaty looking and with water dripping from the bottom of his shirt. He grabs the photo off the fridge, and stuffs it into a pocket before turning to Timothy with an embarrassed smile on his face.

“What? It’s cute.” Timothy says, hooking two fingers into Rhys’ pocket in a half-hearted attempt to get the photo back.

Rhys snorts, and only puts up a token resistance when Timothy pulls him closer. “You’re only saying that because you want the leftover nachos, don’t you?”

“Maybe.” Timothy says, sliding his other hand around Rhys’ back. In response, Rhys hooks his arms around Timothy’s shoulders, and gives him a sly grin.

“Well, how about this? I’m going to put Kieran to bed, and then we could finish up the nachos together. And maybe I’ll even let you have some of my ice cream.” His fingers start playing with the hair at the back of Timothy’s neck, and Timothy’s so, so tempted to lean forward and kiss him.

Something about his expression probably gives him away, because Rhys’ eyes darken, and the stroke of his fingers slows down, gets more deliberate. It’s as good as permission. Better, possibly, going by the way Rhys’ fingers dip down into Timothy’s collar, and one nail traces a line down suddenly sensitive skin.

Timothy crowds in close against Rhys, using his grip on Rhys’ hips to push him against the fridge. Rhys goes more than willingly, with a wicked look in his eyes that makes Timothy’s mouth go dry.

“Oh?” Timothy says, as he leans in closer. “Do you mean, the ice cream that _I_ bought?”

“It’s in my freezer, I’d say that makes it _my_ ice cream now, no?” Rhys breathes out, eyes flicking down to Timothy’s mouth and back up.

“A compelling argument. The ice cream is yours,” Timothy agrees, and closes that last few inches to press his mouth against Rhys’.

Rhys laughs, the sound muffled against Timothy’s lips, and returns the kiss enthusiastically. He tastes like burritos, which should not be sexy in any way, but somehow, from the way his tongue slides against Timothy’s, or maybe because of the way Timothy can _smell_ him, smell his arousal, it’s hot. Timothy’s not sure if he’s ever going to be able to eat burritos without getting a mild chub again.

Going by the strength of the smell, he’s willing to bet that Rhys’ hole is already starting to get slick, and more than anything he wants to taste him, see if he tastes as good down there. Timothy generally isn’t the kind of alpha who moves fast in relationships, and this is only their 4th date, but somehow, with Rhys, everything just feels-- _right_.

To Timothy’s dismay however, Rhys pulls away after a while.

“C’mon, lets put Kieran to bed first.” Rhys says, smiling at the look on Timothy’s face. “We can _nachos_ all you like after.”

Laughing, Timothy relents, but not without one last kiss. When he pulls away, Rhys’ reddened lips and flushed face make it really hard for him to let go, but he does so anyway.

“After,” Timothy says, hearing the dark promise in his own voice, the way there’s a little bit of alpha steel beneath it.

Rhys closes his eyes and takes a deep, shuddering breath before opening his eyes and giving Timothy a stern look. “After,” he repeats himself, sounding more like he’s talking to himself than anything. “Come on then.”

He turns and leads the way out of the kitchen, hand tight around Timothy’s own. Timothy follows willingly, amused and half turned on at the way Rhys is walking a little bit awkwardly. Not like Timothy’s pants aren’t tight as well or anything. Luckily, Kieran’s room is up a flight of stairs, and by the time they get there, there isn’t a problem to worry about.

At Kieran’s door, Rhys pauses. He wipes at his face, pats at his pants, and turns to Timothy. He eyes him for a moment before reaching forward and straightening Timothy’s shirt out.

“There, done. Can’t do anything about the smell, but well.” He turns and knocks on the door. “Kieran, you done?”

“Yeah,” Kieran calls out.

Rhys heads into the room, and Timothy follows, curious to see what Kieran’s room will look like. It’s lit only by a small lamp casting a yellow globe of light next to Kieran’s bed. The kid himself is sprawled over the bed, and he sits up to give them a quizzical look as they enter.

“Ommy, you smell weird. Why do you smell like Tim?”

“Um.” Rhys steps closer, and goes to sit on the edge of Kieran’s bed. “He was helping me with the dishes. You ready to go to bed?”

Thankfully, Kieran takes the change of subject with all the attention span of a fruitfly. Or a child.

“Yep!” Kieran lies back down, and turns his head so he can look at Timothy. “Are you going to say goodnight too?”

Timothy nods as he goes forward, close enough until he can pat Kieran’s forehead. “Sleep well, Kieran. We’ll go to the zoo soon, yeah?”

Kieran grins up at him, revealing the gap in his teeth again. “Yeah!” It’s ridiculously, immensely charming, the expression on his face, and Timothy can’t help but bite down on what would be a really embarrassing _awww_. Instead, he nods, and gives Kieran’s head one last pat before stepping back and giving Rhys space.

“Goodnight, Kieran.” Rhys bends down, and gives Kieran a kiss.

“Goodnight, Ommy.” Kieran blinks up at him. “Can I leave the light on?”

“Sure thing, sweetheart.” Standing, Rhys ushers Timothy out, and turns to close the door. “Call if you need help with the monsters beneath the bed, okay?”

“No I won’t!” Kieran calls out, sounding indignant. “I can do it on my own!”

“Okay, big boy.” Snickering, Rhys shuts the door, and turns to Timothy. “Nachos?”

“Nachos,” Timothy agrees, and reaches forward to take Rhys’ hand.

In Timothy’s defense, he _had_ been looking forward to the nachos and ice cream. Sure, _nachos_ too, but after the food. Once they get back to the living room though, the first thing Rhys does is push Timothy onto the sofa, and climb on top of him.

“What happened to nachos?” Timothy asks, amused, breathless, and already sliding his hands up Rhys’ shirt.

Rhys gives him an unimpressed stare, before twining his hands into Timothy’s hair. “You wanna eat nachos, or you wanna kiss me?”

In answer, Timothy pushes Rhys’ still damp shirt up, and plants a close-mouthed kiss on Rhys’ sternum.

Rhys huffs out a laugh, and it quickly turns into a moan when Timothy parts his lips, and starts tracing a slick path up his chest, and then bites down..

“Ah, okay, not what I was thinking of when I said kiss, but- ohhh--” Rhys’ voice trails off into a broken moan that he stifles behind a hand.

Timothy pulls away, and lets Rhys’ shirt fall. “Normal kissing sounds good, too,” he says, voice a little hoarse.

Rhys wriggles down a little lower on Timothy’s lap to get to eye level with Timothy. It feels _really fucking good_ , and Rhys knows it, by the smirk on his face. “I have the best ideas, it’s true.” He tilts Timothy’s head up, and bends to kiss him, mouth and tongue moving hot against Timothy’s own.

They make out for what feels like hours, Rhys warm and responsive in Timothy’s lap. It’s more than they’ve ever done so far, way more action than Timothy has gotten in _years_ , and god, Timothy had forgotten how good it felt. He lets his hands run up Rhys’ chest, go to cup Rhys’ jaw as he pulls him into kiss after kiss, and lets himself be taken for the ride.

“Tim--” Rhys mumbles, words muffled against Timothy’s temple as he grinds down onto Timothy’s lap.

Timothy makes a questioning noise, but doesn’t stop from where he’s sucking a hickey low on Rhys’ neck. When Rhys doesn’t continue, Timothy slides one hand up to circle around Rhys’ neck, thumb pressing on the underside of Rhys’ chin so that he has better access.

“Ah-! Fffffu--” Rhys cuts himself off with a whine. It’s quite possibly the hottest thing Timothy has ever heard.

“Do- Do you wanna come up to my room?” Rhys gets the words out eventually, breathless and ragged.

Surprised, Timothy straightens up to make eye contact with him. “Really?” He asks, both hopeful and wary at once. “We don’t have to- I totally didn’t buy ice cream to get into your pants. Well- eventually, hopefully, but it wasn’t--”

Laughing, Rhys takes one of Timothy’s hands (not the one around his neck, Timothy notices), and guides it down to Rhys’ crotch. “Trust me, the ice cream may have been an _influencing_ factor, but this is all me.”

Squeezing down, and watching the way Rhys shudders and hitches his hips up to press against his hand, Timothy is very easily convinced.

“Also, my condoms are upstairs.” Rhys adds, and bites down on his lip as he gives Timothy a wicked smile.

Timothy is so, so easily convinced.

“Upstairs, definitely.” Timothy agrees. He doesn’t make any attempt to let go of Rhys though, and Rhys doesn’t seem to mind either, going by the way he’s practically rutting against Timothy now.

That is, until he stops with visible effort, and plants his hands firmly on Timothy’s chest to push himself into a standing position.

“Okay, upstairs. _Now_. Ugh, I hate wet underwear.” Rhys grimaces, and shifts his weight from leg to leg.

Acting mostly on instinct, Timothy catches Rhys’ hips, and pulls him forward, turning him around. Rhys goes with it, but gives him a quizzical look from over his shoulder. Ignoring the look, Timothy pushes on the small of Rhys’ back, until Rhys gets the hint, and bends at the waist, legs shifting apart so that he’s practically presenting himself to Timothy. Like this, the smell of Rhys’ arousal is thick and heady, even through his pants, and it only intensifies when Timothy runs a hand down the back of one of Rhys’ thighs. When Timothy leans in close and rests his cheek on Rhys’ ass, Rhys actually _whimpers_ , and presses back against him needily.

“You smell good.” Timothy finally pulls away, and stands up. He pulls Rhys upright, and crowds up close against his back, pressing himself against Rhys’ body. Rhys shivers, and presses back, hips hitching against Timothy’s. “Upstairs?”

“Fuuuuuck,” Rhys exhales, pulling away with a groan. “That is so unfair.” He turns around, and gives Timothy a glare. It’s not very effective, given his flushed face, the hickeys on his neck, and the lust-glazed quality to his eyes.

Grinning, Timothy pulls him in for a kiss. “Upstairs, let’s go.”

Rhys’ gait as he climbs the stairs is definitely uncomfortable, and Timothy would be amused, except that his own pants are damnably tight as well.

Rhys’ room, when they get to it, is messier than the rest of the house, but Timothy doesn’t really get a chance to look around more, because the moment the door shuts behind them, Rhys is turning around, and undoing Timothy’s belt.

“Okay, we’re going to have to be quiet, because Kieran’s room is down the hall,” Rhys says distractedly.

“Uhhuh, yeah, quiet.” Timothy agrees, and pushes his own jeans and underwear off the moment Rhys gets his belt off. That done, he strips his shirt off, and goes to help Rhys out of his clothes.

“I mean, not really because thank fuck for soundproofing, but-- ah! Oh, that feels good. Quiet. We should- should try to be quiet.”

“Quiet, yeah. Quiet.” Timothy repeats, only half listening, because Rhys is naked.

He can see where he’d marked Rhys earlier, purpling bruises on his neck and chest. Timothy presses a finger against one mark, a particularly dark one on Rhys’ right pec, and savours the hiss that Rhys lets out.

“Ah, that’s gonna last for a bit,” Rhys says, one hand coming up to catch Timothy’s own. “Good.” His eyes are dark on Timothy’s.

“Good,” Timothy agrees. He pulls Rhys in close, and into a kiss. “What do you want?” He asks, when he pulls away.

Rhys uses his grip on Timothy’s hand and pulls it down, between Rhys’ legs. The slick that Timothy could smell earlier is everywhere, and Timothy thinks distantly that when Rhys was complaining about wet underwear earlier he hadn’t been exaggerating.

Rhys’ hand falls away as Timothy slides his fingers further back. They go to press, beneath Rhys’ hard cock and small omega balls, between his legs, until two fingers are catching on Rhys’ hole, hot and wet and ready for him.

“Fuck me,” Rhys says, eyes dark and lips parted as he watches Timothy.

In answer, Timothy slides two fingers in, and watches as Rhys moans, and shifts his legs further apart.

“Bed?” Timothy asks.

“Bed, definitely bed.” Rhys pulls away, and heads to the bed at the back of the room.

Timothy catches up before Rhys can go to lie down on it, and says, “Let me taste you.” He turns Rhys, and helps him to lie on his back, hips half off the bed. Rhys goes willingly, even though his face is flushed, and he covers his face when Timothy glances up at him.

“Is this okay?” Timothy asks, rubbing at Rhys’ thighs soothingly. “We don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”

“I-- um. It’s been really long, that’s all.” Rhys says, the words muffled through his hands. “I’m just trying not to come before you fuck me, because that would be really fucking embarrassing.”

Laughing, Timothy goes to push Rhys’ legs up, hitching his hips higher so that when he kneels next to the bed, Rhys’ ass is right at eye-level. “If I can get you to come more than once, I’ll take it as a compliment.”

Rhys snorts, but one hand comes off his face to run his fingers through Timothy’s hair. “God, you’re a sap.”

“I am,” Timothy admits, before getting down to business.

He doesn’t go to Rhys’ hole immediately, but takes his time nipping and leaving wet little kisses against Rhys’ cheeks. Rhys squirms beneath his grip, but lets out a satisfyingly high-pitched moan when Timothy flattens his tongue, and licks right over his hole.

“Ah- Tim, oh fuck,” Rhys’ breath hitches, and his grip in Timothy’s hair tightens. “Oh- oh my g-- haah--”

Timothy slides one finger in, and continues to lick around Rhys’ hole. His slick tastes delicious, like a stronger, more concentrated version of his smell, and with every fresh wave of it, Timothy wants _more_. More of the taste, more of Rhys’ noises, more of the way Rhys’ legs curl in towards his body even as his hips press down on Timothy’s tongue sluttishly. He pulls away to take a breather, but continues to ease two fingers in and out as he presses small kisses up along Rhys’ inner thighs.

“More, please.” Rhys’ words echo Timothy’s own thoughts, and when Timothy glances up, Rhys is looking down at him, eyes glazed over. “Please, I need you to fuck me.”

“Okay, okay.” Timothy says, more than willing. “Let’s get you to come first, okay?”

“Y-yeah. Just-- more, please.” Rhys exhales, head thumping back down on the bed. “Ngh. Fuck.”

“We’ll get to that, yeah.” Timothy leaves one last nip at Rhys’ inner thigh, and goes back down.

He slides three fingers in this time, which Rhys seems to like, going by his choked off cry. This time though, instead of going to rim Rhys, he starts mouthing at the head of Rhys’ cock, other hand coming up to hold it in place. It’s small, fits nicely in his hand, and curves sweetly. It’s really fucking adorable, even for an omega cock, is what Tim’s saying.

When he finally takes it into his mouth, Rhys comes with a muffled cry, hips moving frantically, thrusting into Timothy’s mouth and back down to take Timothy’s fingers into him.

Timothy only pulls off when Rhys starts making uncomfortable noises. His hand is covered in slick, and he goes to lick some of it off, getting more of its taste. God, Rhys tastes good.

“I thought you said we had to be quiet.” Timothy pushes Rhys up the bed, and crawls on over him. “Should I have covered your mouth or something?”

Rhys blinks up at him blearily, eyes watery and dazed. “Quiet? Oh. Oh, yeah- okay, I was not expecting to come that hard.” He gives Timothy a slow, wicked smile, a little bleary, but wicked nonetheless. “Guess you’ll have to kiss me or something to keep me quiet.”

“Gladly.” Smiling, Timothy leans down, and kisses him, letting him taste himself. “Where are your condoms?”

“Oh, fuck. Condoms. Hold on, okay lemme grab them.”

Timothy slides off, and watches Rhys roll off the bed to pad towards the large work desk on the other side of the room.

“Don’t tell Kieran, but half the stuff in the drawers of my work desk is...adult stuff.” Rhys admits, returning with a small tube of lube and a packet of condoms.

“Oh?” Timothy says, eyeing him with interest.

“You’ll see.” Rhys flops onto the bed next to Timothy, and runs one hand down Timothy’s chest. “Ride, or be ridden?”

“Is that a promise?” TImothy answers Rhys’ question by rolling onto his back, and pulling Rhys atop of him. “You gonna show me all your toys?”

Rhys straddles Timothy easily, legs spread wide as he kneels over him. “Only if you promise to show me yours at some point.”

“Done.” Timothy says immediately, and reaches up for Rhys. “Now, what was that you said about being ridden?”

Laughing, Rhys goes to take the condom out of its packet. “I like your enthusiasm, Mr. Lawrence.” He unrolls the condom down Timothy’s length, and keeps stroking for a bit, getting a feel of Timothy’s cock. “No knotting, okay? This condom isn’t a knotting one.”

“Sure,” Timothy agrees. He’s not really surprised, but there’s a pang of disappointment nonetheless.

Rhys squeezes Timothy’s cock, and smiles. “I guess I’ll have to start getting those as well, huh?”

Timothy blinks up at him, not really getting it at first. When it hits him, it’s just as Rhys starts sliding down onto him. He’s tight, and Timothy kind of thinks he maybe should’ve spent more time opening Rhys up, but Rhys seems to like it, going by the moan he lets out.

“The look on your face,” Rhys laughs. “ _That_ was a promise, Tim.”

And with that, he starts a slow, sensual pace. Even though his cock is still soft, and he must still be really oversensitive, his movements have a post-orgasmic languor, and Timothy is transfixed by the shifting of his hips, and the heavy lidded lust on his face.

“Fuck,” he exhales, watching in delight. “God, you’re beautiful.”

“Flatterer,” Rhys says, giving him a small smile. He bends down to give Timothy a kiss, hard and filthy, and when he pulls back, there’s a promise in his eyes. “My turn to repay the favour.”

Planting his hands on Timothy’s shoulders, Rhys sets to riding in earnest. It’s hot, really fucking hot, watching the way his body moves as he bounces on Timothy’s cock. His expression is hot too, eyes half-closed and reddened lips parted, brows furrowed. His hole is slick and hot and clenching down on Timothy with every down thrust, and Timothy thinks it’s probably a really good thing he got Rhys to come first.

“God, your cock feels so good in me,” Rhys breathes out. “Fuck.”

Timothy runs his hands up Rhys’ chest, and pulls him down into a kiss, jostling him a little out of his rhythm.

“It feels good in you,” he mumbles against Rhys’ mouth. “You’re so hot, god. Wanna fuck you hard.”

Rhys hooks his arms around Timothy’s neck, and wriggles his hips a little, bouncing his ass down onto Timothy’s lap. He gives Timothy a grin, and says, “So fuck me. As hard as you want.”

Taking the cue, Timothy rolls them both over, and lays Rhys out beneath him. Rhys watches him, one arm still around Timothy’s neck, the other now gone to prop his head up. He gives Timothy a sweet smile, and says, very clearly. “Fuck me, hard.”

Shifting one of Rhys’ legs up so he has a better angle, Tim starts fucking him hard, slamming up against Rhys. The slap of flesh against flesh is obscene, made more so by the wet sounds as Timothy fucks deep into Rhys, and Timothy’s own grunts as he tries to find the perfect angle. When he hits it, Rhys jerks, and whines, smile gone from his face as he furrows his brows and angles his hips to help Timothy.

Between them, Rhys’ cock is beginning to harden, small and flushed. Timothy reaches down to give him a helping hand, but Rhys smacks his hand away.

“No!” Rhys says breathlessly, eyes still scrunched shut. “I wanna- oh fuck! Harder! Ngh-- Wanna come- _ah_! From you fucking me.”

“Can you?” Timothy asks, trying to mask his own breathlessness. “Fuck, that’s hot.”

“Well, I can _try_.” Rhys lets go of Timothy’s hand. “Like a- oh! Personal achievement. Harder, c’mon. Let’s do this.”

And Timothy obliges. It’s interesting, turning it into a kind of game, to see if he can get the right angle consistently. Rhys is responsive, which helps. Timothy’s distracted from his own pleasure, watching the way Rhys tosses his head and whimpers for Timothy to go _harder, faster, fuck me Tim_.

When Rhys comes, cock spurting to leave white streaks across his belly, it’s a surprise to them both. Timothy just barely manages to duck down and swallow Rhys’ cry as he comes, muffling it with his own lips. Rhys goes completely slack beneath him, moaning weakly, arms dropping to the side. It’s flattering, and enough to tip Timothy over the edge after him.

“Fuck- _fuck_ , ah-- Rhys!” Timothy groans, as he comes, hips rutting without rhythm against Rhys’. It feels amazing, Rhys tight and hot around him, and it takes a huge amount of effort for Timothy to roll off and not collapse onto Rhys when he’s done.

“Oh, god.” He mumbles, pressing his face into Rhys’ neck. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Rhys says, voice a little hoarse. “Fuck, indeed.”

Timothy slings an arm over Rhys’ chest, and rubs soothingly at his arm. “That was _definitely_ worth the ice cream and nachos.”

Snickering, Rhys shoves at his face before groaning. “Oh, god. The nachos are still downstairs. Ugh. I’ll go down...in a bit.”

“I can take care of it,” Timothy offers. “...Okay, give me a few minutes, maybe.”

Rhys huffs out a laugh. “We’ll both go down. I can lend you some sweatpants. In a bit. I don’t want to get up just yet.”

Timothy obligingly cuddles in tighter, and starts making a new hickey on Rhys’ shoulder.

Eventually, however, Rhys shoves Timothy out of bed, and flings a pair of sweatpants at him. He makes the funniest face when he first puts his weight on his own feet, and Timothy laughs out loud at his bow-legged gait.

“I should make you carry me,” Rhys mutters half-heartedly as he hobbles into the bathroom.

When he emerges, Timothy opens up his arms, and says, “Want a lift?”

Rhys gives him a confused look that quickly turns into realisation. “Oh my god, _no_. I’m not letting you carry me down the stairs, Tim. Not before I finish the ice cream downstairs.”

Snorting, Timothy lets his hands drop, and goes to open the door for Rhys. “After you, then.”

Cleaning up a living room while wearing too-long sweatpants is quite possibly the last thing Timothy would classify as “a nice afterglow experience”. Somehow though, as he and Rhys shove at each other only to shush themselves, it’s the best after-sex experience Timothy has ever had. They’re both shirtless, dressed only in Rhys’ sweatpants, and Timothy leaves more than a few new marks across Rhys’ back and shoulders while they “clean up”. They finish the nachos, half a tub of the ice cream that Timothy brought, and by the time they tiptoe back upstairs, Timothy’s already marked the night down as one of his top ten memories.

“Stay the night,” Rhys says quietly, watching Timothy as they lie curled up on the bed, facing each other. “We can make pancakes for breakfast, I’ve got the ingredients. Kieran loves them, and I think he likes you too.”

Timothy nods, unable to help the smile that spreads across his face. “I’ve always wanted to try making hippo shaped pancakes.”

The answering smile that Rhys gives him is a memory on its own, solidly within the top five.

**Author's Note:**

> sry that ended abruptly im deathly allergic to *hurgh* fluff


End file.
